Helping out a friend -part two in 'the boys of Baker Street' series
by TooManyChoices
Summary: John has a nightmare and Sherlock offers comfort. Leads to more but still pre-slash. Can be read as stand alone but more naturally follows 'UsCrotchCouch' John's POV. Thanks for all the wonderful feedback, if you keep enjoying it, I'll keep writing it! Reviews heartily appreciated. Still rating M to be safe.


John was trapped, the sand filling his nose and mouth, pined under the upturned transport. The blood from the bullet wound in his shoulder soaking his shirt and painting a red line across his chest to drip into the sand under him. The pain was intense and he could hear the cries of his team around him. His voice adding to theirs as he started screaming.

"John, shhh, John. You're safe, you're home, I'm here." Sherlock's deep baritone cut through the dream and he jerked back to consciousness, flailing in the dark.

Sherlock's weight pressed on the bed behind him as he sat on the edge and a warm, comforting hand settled on John's shoulder as the shaking began, adrenaline driving his body through the terror and out the other side.

"It's OK John, it's over. It's in the past." Sherlock voice was calling him back, away from the heat, and the sand, and the death. Back to Baker Street, back home.

"Jesus Sherlock. I'm sorry; I didn't mean to wake you. It's just..." John trailed off into silence, struggling to articulate how bad it had been.

"John. I'm going to do something now and I don't want you to panic, or read anything into this except a friend offering another friend comfort. Am I clear?"

"No, not really, but go ahead. You're going to do it anyway and I'm too tired to complain in any case."

When Sherlock stood up, John thought he was leaving, or going to get a cup of tea for him or...anything except Sherlock lifting the duvet and sliding in behind him to curl his ridiculously long body around John's more compact frame. John's entire body froze at the feel of the taller man pressed snugly from shoulder to ankle, his warm breath tickling John's ear.

"No panicking John, you agreed remember"

"Yes, but Sherlock...Spooning? Really?"

"Comforting, John. I'm comforting you. No ulterior motive, no porn movie music, no flowers and dinner. I'm offering comfort."

The thought of Sherlock down on one knee with a bunch of flowers did the trick and the desperate need to flee was replaced by first a smile and a smothered laugh as the tension eased from his shoulders.

"Better. Now relax, sleep if you can, I'll be here"

Sherlock began making slow easy circles with his fingertips on a Johns shoulders, occasionally pausing and gently kneeling at a knot of muscle. His strong and delicate hands conducting a strange esoteric dance on John's skin and tracing lines across scar tissue in the dark. It was oddly relaxing and John was just drifting off to sleep when a tell-tale nudge against his arse set alarm bells ringing again and he tensed.

Sherlock sighed, "Oh for God's sake John, we've already had this conversation. I'm a man, I have a penis, and I get erections. Can we PLEASE get past this? I'm not going to force myself on you without prior warning and permission"

"Yes, sorry, right. You're right, sorry. I'll try to relax" John replied a little chastised. This was Sherlock, the man he trusted with his life.

The circling fingers on his arm resumed, paused and, without warning we're suddenly gone. Instead, Sherlock's hand first settled on the side of John's ribs, slid around his chest and firmly drew their bodies together as if to challenge John to confront his earlier demons.

The insistent bulge was now firmly pressed against his right arse cheek and to make matters worse, was trying to attract additional attention by occasionally pulsing firmly between their bodies. Worse still, John's own body, having answered the call to action, was working on producing an impressive erection of his own.

"Shit...I can't sleep like this." John wriggled from Sherlock's grasp and sat up.

Sherlock propped himself up on one elbow and with a frustrated sigh tried to explain again, "John, here's what you need to know. I find you attractive sexually and, when you're ready..."

John interrupted, "No Sherlock, that's not the problem. The problem is that I now have a raging hard-on and sleep is about as likely as the Queen tap dancing at Buckingham palace at the next trooping of the colour"

"Oh."

"Yes, oh. So unless you and your brilliant brain have any idea on how to solve THIS little dilemma" and at this point John gestured at the majestically tented sheet over his lap, "then I think tonight's little experiment on COMFORTING is just about done."

In the dim light of the room, John could just make out Sherlock staring fixedly at the sheet, his eyes unfocussed as he quite obviously worked through all the options in rapid succession before arriving in a clinically logical and yet unexpected place.

"I could…", a pause and Sherlock raised his dagger-like stare to John's face, "help you with that," another awkward pause in the silence of John's room, "If you like."

_And we're down the bloody rabbit hole again_. John sat, dumbstruck, mouth agape and hands upturned in helplessness at the suggestion that had just been laid out before him.

"Sherlock, tell me you didn't just offer to get me off. Please tell me that of all the scenarios and options you worked through in the space of two bloody heartbeats that the best solution, the one that made the most SENSE was to offer to jerk me off."

"The most sense in the traditional meaning of the word? No. The most SENSIBLE option would be to excuse you for a quick wank in the shower. However, when I take into consideration our obvious sexual compatibility…" Now Sherlock gestured toward his own crotch, "…I believe the more DESIRABLE solution is to allow me to participate."

_And that_, John thought, _is that. The great and glorious Sherlock Holmes put aside reason and allowing need to creep in and help direct the scene. Wonders_ _will never cease with this man._ The calm and rational explanation allowed John some respite and gave him the space he needed to have a serious think about what it was HE wanted.

_My flat mate has just offered to give me a quick wank in the 's…odd_

_My flat mate is visibly turned on by the idea of giving me a quick wank in the dark. Still odd._

_My INCREDIBLY attractive flat mate has offered to give me a quick wank in the dark. Still odd, but flattering._

_My attractive flat mate, who if I'm completely honest with myself, I've occasionally considered pushing up against a wall and sticking my hand down his trousers, wants to wank me off. OK, I'm not totally against the idea._

_Jesus I'm hard_

_I'm going to get a wank from Sherlock Holmes, and I no longer give a fuck if it_'s _odd_.

"OK" The words left John's mouth before he had time to talk himself out of it.

"OK? Really?" Sherlock looked slightly shocked that John had agreed.

'Unless you've changed your mind? Which is fine by the way, totally fine." _Not fine at all!_

"No." Sherlock said slowly, "I haven't changed my mind, I just, I'm not sure I expected you to…..accept."

"Christ, did you want me to say no?" _God, what have I done?_ "Look, pretend I didn't say anything and I'll just nip out and….take care of myself. I misunderstood…" John made a valiant effort to get out of the bed without looking like the complete idiot he felt. His feet had just hit the floor when Sherlock's firm grasp on his forearm forestalled his escape.

"John…", Sherlock's gentle voice was an invitation rather than the rejection John was expecting. Sherlock simply said "Come back to bed."

So that's what John did. He got back under the duvet and with gentle coaxing from Sherlock, resumed his snug position cradled against Sherlock's chest, crotch and long legs. He tucked his head next to Sherlock's and felt the taller man adjust position slightly so his chin was perched in the curve between John's neck and shoulder, warm breath curling around his neck. He'd snaked his left arm under John, bringing his hand up to splay against the older man's chest.

The confusion and doubt of the past few minutes fell away as Sherlock's arms held him close, clearly content to simply hold John for as long as needed to chase away lingering fears while all the time the insistent nudge at his rear was reminding his own body that at some point, there'd been the happy offer of a little more strenuous exercise to round out the evening.

Sherlock's right hand began its methodical circling on his shoulder again but this time it forayed down, along ribs, across his chest, down to his waist in warm broad strokes. Never pushing too far, never forging beyond John's hip. Within minutes, John was gritting his teeth and suspecting he'd never been this hard in his entire life.

"Sherlock…." John suspected he sounded rather needy by this point.

"John?" Came the reply, his name vibrated through Sherlock's neck to John's skin _and oh God didn't that feeling send additional blood thundering to his groin._ The tone in Sherlock's voice holding an unasked question, Is this OK? Do we continue?

"Sherlock, if we don't start moving this along, I fear I'm going to start begging and that would be rather embarrassing."

"So…" Sherlock's hand moved lower, perching on John's hip, finger tapping idly.

"God Sherlock…please….will you…just….please" _There it is, I'm reduced to begging. Kill me now._

In one smooth move, without hesitation Sherlock hand dove down and his elegant and OMG LONG fingers encircled John's shaft in one fluid movement. Not pressing or squeezing, just holding firmly.

_Was that a groan? Did one of us groan? Jesus, that was me wasn't it? Fuck that's good, and tight, , and warm, and why didn't this happen ages ago._

"Are you OK John. Too much? Do you want me to…" the pressure of Sherlock's hand lessened noticeably and Sherlock tensed behind him.

"God NO!" _OK that came out a little louder than planned_ "Just…for the record I feel I need to say out loud….that feels…incredible."

At the unsought praise, John felt Sherlock smile against his neck, the flex of jaw bringing those razor sharp cheekbones into relief and pressing them against his ear.

"Excellent. That's...well….excellent. You'll tell me if what I'm doing isn't…..working for you?"

_He hasn't even moved and I feel like a hormonal teenager reading his first porn magazine. I don't think this not...WORKING FOR ME….is going to be an issue. _"Yes Sherlock, if there's a problem, I give you my solemn word I'll mention it"

Sherlock still hadn't moved, not even a fraction, "Good because I want this to be enjoyable for you John and….."

_Will you just…..move your hand. _Need and desperation finally pushed John to force the issue, canting his hips backward to shift his cock in Sherlock's hand he was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath behind him as the movement also provided some unexpected additional friction to Sherlock's untended erection. _Now THIS is progress!_

It appeared that this triggered some epiphany in Sherlock who, knowing what he liked in the privacy of his own bedroom, began to apply personal experience in this new context. Whether by happy coincidence or glorious accident John found that what worked for Sherlock was staggeringly good for him too.

As John lost himself in the sensation of Sherlock's long strokes, twisting slightly whenever he reached the base, he could feel that Sherlock had begun rutting against him from behind, the excitement of his obvious success at pleasuring John driving Sherlock's own arousal to new levels. John adjusted his movements, altering tempo so that as Sherlock pushed forward toward him, he pushed back, grinding against the taller man and wordlessly trying to signal that it was OK, THEY were OK and this had been the best idea Sherlock had come up with in a very long time.

It was never going to last as long as John would like. He realised that as soon as Sherlock had first grasped him and as their sweat slicked bodies continued to glide against one another ever more frantically, John still had enough conscious control to mutter an urgent, "Sherlock….I'm close, I'm very damned close"

"Go ahead John, I've got you" came the panted reply. Sherlock's acceptance and all the intimacy it represented giving John the push he needed to send him cascading over the edge, wave after wave of his climax surging through him and clouding his vision with sparkling lights. Somewhere in the foggy oblivion, some small part of John's brain registered that Sherlock had also toppled over the brink, hands clutching at John's chest, hips pushed impossibly hard against John's and a strangled cry ringing in his ear.

They lay there, panting against each other, waiting for the aftershocks to subside and some control return to their muscles. John was trying to put some coherent words together to accurately describe the mind-blowing nature of what he'd just had happen and how delighted he was that Sherlock had joined him for the ride.

"I'm sorry John." Sherlock's voice sounded very far away in his ear, although the taller man hadn't moved away "I didn't mean to, I wasn't meant to….It was supposed to be about you."

John tried to turn his head, tried to make eye contact to understand what was going on in Sherlock's head. Untangling himself from Sherlock's lean frame with arms and legs which still obstinately refused to move was a challenge, but he was able to turn enough to see the haunted, chastened look in Sherlock's eyes.

"What are you talking about Sherlock, do I look like a man who didn't enjoy himself?"

"Well yes, obviously you enjoyed yourself. However me taking my own pleasure, frotting against you without your permission. It's not what you agreed to and….I'm sorry."

"You're an idiot Sherlock. You may be the smartest man I know and the most frustrating but right now in this bed, you're the biggest idiot on the planet"

"Excuse me?"

"That, what we just did, is probably…no…IS…the best wank I've had in my entire life. Alone, with a partner, ever. Jesus, it beat most of the actual sex I've ever had, and I've had some pretty impressive sex over the years. And you know what…." John paused to choose just the right words to cut through Sherlock's mad self-delusion, "I think, what made it so incredibly spectacular was knowing that behind me, right behind me, Sherlock Holmes, the most intelligent, most astoundingly measured and constrained person I've ever met, was losing control and it was because of me. It was because bringing me pleasure was pushing you over the edge and I was making that happen."

"So you're not disappointed at my lack of self-control?"

"Disappointed! If I could trust my legs to hold me up right now, I'd be doing a celebratory Rhumba. Sherlock, that was amazing. YOU'RE amazing, and damn it, together WE were amazing"

"It was rather good wasn't it?" The look on his face told John that free of his fears Sherlock was now allowing himself to bask in the afterglow. "But I reckon we could improve with practice."

"Can I at least have a shower first?"


End file.
